Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 41327 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 207(@200wpm)___ 165(@250wpm)___ 138(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41327 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 207(@200wpm)___ 165(@250wpm)___ 138(@300wpm)
I flipped him off, not bothering to argue. What the hell do they know? The cabin is mine. The silence is mine. The control is mine.
"Army broke you, brother," Cade muttered, scratching his beard. "Time to rejoin the living."
Colt just watched, that knowing stare of his cutting through my bullshit like always. Ex-fire jumper before he came home and took the job as the town’s Sheriff, with scars that ran deeper than skin. He understood better than the others why a man might need space.
"We're still on for Sunday," I'd told them, not a question. Sunday is our mom’s birthday. She’s been gone three years now, but we still celebrate her. Family is family, even when I wanted to throw my brothers in the fucking river. We take it in turns to host, even if I don’t trust my brothers’ cooking as far as I can spit, but this year Colt is hosting. “You need any pointers on how to cook venison, Colt, you just need to ask.”
“You can fucking cook, I’ll give you that,” Cade said, rubbing his stomach. “What you can do over an open fire is better than any Food Network contestant could put out.”
“Speaking of putting out—” Colt started shoving Beau, who promptly put him in a headlock. “You know I’m a take me home to mama man, I don’t put out unless you work for it.”
Beau doubled over like he was retching.
“Get the fuck out of here,” I groused. A few hours of company is enough human contact for me, and I was ready to get back to the silence of the woods.
When they finally left, dust kicking up behind their trucks and Cade’s squad car as they wound down the mountain road, I was left alone with my workshop and the half-finished twelve foot dining table some rich asshole from Denver commissioned.
Then the radio crackled—Billy from the ranger station, something about movement on the east ridge trail cam. Probably just another idiot hiker who couldn't read a fucking "PRIVATE PROPERTY" sign if it bit them in the ass.
But spring runoff made the river dangerous. And I didn't need a death on my conscience.
So I grabbed my keys and my rifle, and headed out on the four-wheeler toward the river, not knowing my life was about to fucking explode.
Not knowing she was waiting.
She's so fucking soft. Wet. Fucking trembling. And I can feel everything. Every goddamn inch of her against me. And I can't let her go. Won't let her go. Not now, not fucking ever.
The way her thighs press against my forearm, skin silky despite the cold, makes my cock throb like I nailed it with the hammer. Her breaths are these little puffs of warmth that shoot straight to my groin. The way she tugged on my shirt when I caught her like she was still falling, like I'm the only thing keeping her tethered to the earth...
Fuck me. This fucking girl has me changing into something new, and I’m not sure whether to praise the Lord or curse him for a fool.
She was hanging there from my goddamn rope like this was summer camp and not snowmelt death water. Tiny fucking thing. Crazy impractical little shoes with some happy looking cat on them. Slipping. Backpack pulling her down. Red hair plastered to skin so heavenly white I could die right now with my face buried in it.
Eyes wide with fear. Eyes I imagine for a split second looking up at me as I feed her every thick inch of my neglected dick.
And she was going to shoot a flare gun? Who the hell gave her that? Who the fuck let her come up here alone?
My cock hardens against my zipper, an instinctive, primal response to her scent, her softness, the way her body trembles against mine. I shift, knowing if she’s got any awareness she can feel it.
Totally out of character for me. The last time I got hard for a living breathing female was years ago. Fucking five? More?
Big hazel eyes stare up at me, flecks of gold catching the sunlight like treasure. Messy red hair framing a face too delicate for these mountains. Lips that shouldn't be that full on a girl that small, pink and trembling, begging to be claimed by mine. Freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks like a map I want to trace with my tongue, my teeth... My cum.
Beautiful yes, but that’s not enough. She’s cute, like a doll, but something about her perverts my thoughts, thinking of her crawling toward me, licking those bee-stung lips, popping her hips side to side, wearing one of my shirts and nothing else.
Little girl in Daddy’s shirt. I’ll be beating off to that image from now until they throw dirt on top of me, I know that already.
Fucking girl.